


Cupcake

by NegansOtherWife



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cupcakes, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Matchmaking, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-30 10:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13949955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NegansOtherWife/pseuds/NegansOtherWife
Summary: Negan notices you fail—miserably—and decides that you could use a few pointers on the art of attraction.





	1. Strawberry

**Author's Note:**

> A little mini-series I update every now and then on Tumblr. 
> 
> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, an agreement is made over tea and cake.

“Left foot, right foot.” It wasn’t every day that you had to remind yourself to put one foot in front of the other, but it wasn’t every day that you decided to step out of your comfort zone. “You’ve got this, Y/N. Just walk straight up to him—smile softly—offer him a cupcake. Men love cupcakes, right?”

Stepping out into the Sanctuary’s courtyard, you take time to survey the terrain. As you worked in the kitchen there wasn’t much reason for you to be out here, but there was today, you remind yourself. Taking a step forward on slightly shaky limbs, you search out the object of your desire.

Mark.

From the moment you’d arrived at the Sanctuary, he’d been a friendly body and a shoulder to lean on. Mark was often tasked with delivering supplies from runs to the kitchen, so you’d been able to maintain small, moderate interactions that had eventually led to what people would call, an acquaintanceship. Okay, so maybe you were being a little generous. But that was your fault, you just tended to get so disheveled when he was near. Words stalled on your tongue and dismissive gestures tended to be your trademark.

There were moments, however, when you didn’t act like a bumbling idiot and you were able to string along a sentence or two. Those moments were what had given you hope. You were sure the two of you would make a great match if only either of you took the initiate. Well, no more, you’d told yourself. Today was the day you’d finally get the guy, or at least, carry out a full conversation. Baby steps.

You found him unloading supplies from a neighboring vehicle, “Um hi, Mark.” You weren’t sure what to do with your arms, why is it that you’re highly conscious of your appendages at the most inopportune times? When he doesn’t immediately greet you, you try again.

“Oh, hey Lauren.” He glances up from a crate that he’s in the process of opening. When he looks away, your smile drops a fraction of an inch before it’s back in place.

“My name’s Y/N,” You remind him.

“I was close,” He offers with a strained laugh, and you join in hoping that it doesn’t sound too forced. It wasn’t, not even close. “How’s the kitchen, the mixer isn’t given you problems again, is it?”

“No, of course not.” You rush to quell his thoughts, cringing when your voice comes out huskier then intended to. He’d noticed the old appliance in the kitchen one day and offered to take a look at it. Really, that’d been the start of your little crush. “It’s great, the kitchen’s great. I’m great, but you didn’t ask that—ergh, you didn’t have to… to ask at least. But I’m great…in the kitchen—um, thanks?” Coughing into your hand, he looks up, giving you a perplexed look before returning to his task. Swallowing heavily, you look away from his slightly intimidating form, discreetly wiping your sweaty palm on your overalls.  

Just relax, you tell yourself.

“We got some fresh strawberries in yesterday, actually.” Internally, you applaud yourself. Even if the sentence was entirely about ‘work’, you’d managed to not stumble through the entirety of it.

Your words have the opposite reaction you were hoping for, “I fucking hate strawberries. Can’t stand the smell,” With a tight smile you wrap your hands around your middle, hoping in vain to hide the object in your hand. All the while, your mind races, attempting to find a new subject that would engage Mark—take the slightly dull expression off his face.

With a sinking feeling in your throat, you watch as he stands, green eyes locking with something over your head. He calls out to someone, but you’re too rooted to your spot to find out who. Patting the top of your head in passing, he advises, “Get back to the kitchen. Okay, Lauren?”

“I made you a cupcake,” You mumble to his retreating form, removing the lid from the small container in your hands to gaze down at the treat. You’d spent an hour alone on the piping.

“ _Phew_ —fucking shit! Now that was pathetic!” Just when it couldn’t get any worse, your eyes take in the amused, smirking figure of Negan. His tall frame casually propped against a nearby vehicle.

Swallowing back an onslaught of emotions, and with shaky words, you acknowledge him, “It wasn’t so bad. I put myself out there, that’s what happens when you take a risk.” Although internally, you were cursing your grandmama for giving such shitty advice, wherever she was, you hope that she can hear you.

“Honey, that was the awkwardest shit I’ve ever had to experience, since— _goddamn_ it,“ He considers his words, rubbing his palm thoughtfully over his beard, "I discovered what a prostate exam was,” He saunters closer, out of the shadow of the RV, “didn’t figure that shit out until my ass was spread.”

“Thank you?” You hadn’t had much interaction with the Savior’s fearless leader, but the things you’d heard from Mark had been enough. Backing away, you begin, “I should probably go…”

“Listen here, cupcake.” Dipping his fingers into the Tupperware container he takes a long swipe of icing, popping the finger into his mouth, “Mmm, strawberry. My favorite. If you want my advice—and after that painful display—I think you do,” He pauses to let out another snigger, “bring half a dozen of these to my office. Say around 8ish?”

Without another word, you’re left alone, the remnants of Negan’s laughter float toward you, as you contemplate the jagged line that now pierces through the heart you’d iced on the cupcake.


	2. A Gentlemen's Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, a gentlemen's agreement is made over tea and cake.

You’d spent the last several moments pondering whether or not you should knock on Negan’s office door. With a plate of exactly six strawberry cupcakes in hand, sans hearts, you decide to run through the pros and cons of the situation—as was your usual routine when anything became too stressing—one last time, before making a decision.

“This could all be a sick joke of some kind. Maybe Mark’s behind the door ready to laugh in your face.” You roll your shoulders, considering, the albeit, absurd possibility.

“Or, Negan could actually be trying to help you,” Biting your lip, you continue to murmur to yourself. “It’s odd, but, he did say that was the most painful thing he’s ever witnessed.”

It hurt to replay that moment in your head, really, it did.

“He has three wives, so he does know a thing or two about effective communication.” Or, he’s just _that_ good at cunnilingus. “But what if I take Negan’s advice and Mark thinks I’m too overbearing?”

Somehow, all your points were turning out to be very, very cynical.

“You’d finally get the guy, for once.” The last thought seems to be the most meaningful, as you make your decision then. 

Shuffling the heavy tray around in your arms, you rasp at the door. Even your knock sounds hesitant. Pathetic.

Negan appears a few moments later, a wide, cocky smile playing across his features, “You brought tea? Well, that’s just too goddamn sweet. Come in, cupcake.”

You figure if you’re going to be spending an unforeseeable amount of time around Negan, he could at least get your name right, so you say, “My name is Y/N, sir.”

He becomes perplexed, a wisp of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he dips back briefly, letting out a short laugh, “Uh, are you kidding me? Let me introduce myself, cupcake.” A pause. “Hi, I’m Negan and I like nicknames.” 

He motions for you to speak up, and you do, although it comes out more like a question, “Hi, I’m Y/N aka cupcake.” You finish quite lamely. It’s fortunate for you, that you’d reconsidered baking Mark a bundt cake at the last moment.

He could’ve easily been calling you ‘bundt’ right now.

“Now you’re getting this shit.” His long legs carry him swiftly across the room, to a small seating area, adjacent to his wooden desk. Taking the hint, you follow, placing the tray on the end table between the two of you, before taking your own seat.

He leans forward, eagerly plucking a cupcake from the platter, “Strawberry, mhmm, my favorite.” He hums.

“So you’ve said,” He inhales another cupcake, and you wonder when, and if possible, he’ll stop to take a  breather.

“Good shit, cupcake. How the hell, do you make these?” He looks up, startling you for a moment with the intensity of his gaze.

“Well, um,” Clearing your throat, you busy yourself with fixing two cups of tea. Pouring the water and steeping the tea bags, you reply, “I used to work in a bakery, so I know a lot of substitutions. Like that cupcake you’re eating, I used applesauce instead of eggs.”

“Fucking genius,” He breathes, accepting the tea you hand him. If you’re being honest you’re quite flattered by his enthusiasm.

Brushing the crumbs from his beard, he begins, “Alright cupcake, I think I’ve made you wait long enough.” He spreads out his large hands, airily motioning to the space around him, “Welcome to Negan’s School of Dating,” He looks so excited and expectant, you _almost_ consider this moment to be thoughtful on his part. Clearly, he’d given this some thought. But it isn’t. Maybe 'nightmarish’ is the right adjective? “Where we specialize in the art of attraction…for the lesser endowed.” He finishes with a cheeky grin.

Spluttering you interrupt his spiel before he can go any further, and start handing out pamphlets, “Attraction? What’s that supposed to mean? I’m attractive!” You scoff, “I thought you were just going to give me some ideas on what to say in a conversation with Mark.”

He ripostes, with an exasperated look, “Sweetheart, you’re gonna need more than some shitty ice-breakers.”

“Why are you even helping me?” You pluck one of the cupcakes from the tray and bite into it. Great, now you’re stress eating.

“Look around, cupcake. People are a goddamn resource, what kind of leader would I be if I didn’t pitch in and lock down a potentially happy couple. More couples, more babies.” He enunciates each word, almost as if he’s talking to a child.

“I suppose that makes sense,” You return. His unabashed answer calms you more than any false reassurance you could’ve prayed for. If anything, it makes you feel better, that the both of you would be gaining something from this arrangement. Plus, babies with Mark does sound nice. You tremble at the idea.

A thought occurs to you, and you voice it hesitantly, “You’re not going to smash my head in if I fail, right?”

“You keep the cupcakes coming, and I _think_ , you just might make it out alive.” The dubious look on your face is met with his coy smile and a wink. It’s somewhat unnerving, no-one can be that happy all the damn time.

“Shake on it,” You persist.

Negan pauses, teacup poised to his lips. “You callin’ me a liar, cupcake?”

“No, I’m asking for a gentlemen’s agreement. Just so I know you won’t go blabbing to anyone about how pathetic Y/N is, pining after a guy who doesn’t even know her name.” Your answer is more candor than you’re comfortable with, as the one issue that’d been unconsciously holding you back becomes unveiled to the both of you.

“Damn,” Negan lets out a low whistle, placing his teacup down, as he motions for you to do the same, “you’ve got a lot of emotional baggage, Y/N.” A full-blown smirk morphs his features as he leans across the table, initiating a handshake. “I like that.”

You clasp it tentatively, his large hand dwarfing yours.


	3. Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, you learn, vanilla isn’t just for cupcakes.

“Lesson number one,” Negan circles you at a leisure pace. The two of you stand in the middle of his office. He's eager, to say the least, and you're timid. You hadn't factored him wanting to start his 'lessons' so soon, “ _appearance_ …”

You combat the urge to suck in your stomach pouch.

“What’s wrong with my appearance, Negan?” You still weren’t used to calling him by his first name, but he’d insisted. “It’s not like I can go to the mall,” You maintain, tugging at the hem of your shapeless t-shirt.

Shit, maybe he’s referring to the suspicious stain near the collar of your shirt. It’s peanut butter—probably. 

“Where to even start?” He softly questions himself. "The glasses,” He ponders aloud, placing his full attention on your black, tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles.

“I’m practically blind without them,” You interrupt, slightly affronted. Maybe you should have inquired more about the “Negan School of Dating” before you’d rushed off so hastily to register for classes. 

“The glasses are cute, cupcake,” You offer a sheepish apology, beckoning him to continue, “it’s the wardrobe that I’m concerned about.”

“Isn’t a guy supposed to like you for what really counts? Like brains and a good personality,” You wonder aloud, “what does my wardrobe have to do with anything? I work in the kitchen,” You shrug indifferently, “this is as good as it gets.”

He steps closely behind you. Close enough, so that you can practically feel the body heat that radiates from his large frame. He grabs your shoulders, pivoting you so that you face one of the numerous windows in his office. Your reflection pears back at you, nearly dwarfed by Negan’s built, yet willowy frame. He grasps the back of your shirt so that the natural curves of your abdomen become visible. 

“ _This_ , cupcake. This is why, appearance matters,” He licks his lips, considering something, “you’ve got a smokin’ bod. You know that, hell—I know that now. But that fucker, Mark, he doesn’t.” He looks at you almost as if to say ‘get it’? “Personality counts, but only when you’ve got your foot in the door. Get it?”

“Got it,” You breathe, meeting Negan’s twinkling eyes in the reflection of the glass. He still has a firm grasp on your shirt.

“Remember that,” He cheeks, “they’ll be a pop quiz later. Now let’s talk clothing options,” Clapping his hands together, you jump, startled from the loud sound so close to your ear, “it’s the icing on the cupcake, so to speak.” 

“I’m not going to walk around in heels,” You weakly protest, not missing the way he shoots a disdainful look at your raggedy tennis shoes. Although, if he said it would get Mark’s attention, well, you’d have to give that some serious thought. 

Nodding, he beckons, “Come on, cupcake. We’re taking a field trip.”

The field trip turns out to be nothing more than a short walk down a flight of stairs and a sharp veer off to the right. The both of you enter a posh room, filled with several women that he completely ignores. Instead, he opens a door to another room and you follow sheepishly after, your head down.

“Who are you?” A vibrant red-head softly mumbles from her perch on a barstool, causing you to linger. It’s not exactly meant in a negative way, but you take it as one. 

“A student,” You answer, backing away from the women. You head in the direction you’d seen Negan go. He’s already digging through piles of clothes by the time you step into what appears to be a medium-sized room, converted into a closet of some sort. 

“Where are we?” You ask in awe. You hadn’t seen this many clothes in quite awhile.

“My wives closet.” A garment comes soaring at your face and you catch it, taking note of the vibrancy. “Here, try this on.”

A red cotton t-shirt. Your head turns both ways, looking for a restroom. There’s a screen divider and you step behind it, throwing a warning of caution towards Negan.

“Cupcake, get your ass in high gear. You see my hot wives? I don’t have all night.”

Well, alright then. Guess you wouldn’t have to worry about Negan making a move on you anytime soon. The thought calms you even more.

“I look good,” You observe coming to stand before him expectantly. You hadn’t been in something this colorful for so long, the thought mellows your mood slightly. Once upon a time, you’d owned a whole closet of colorful clothing. The brightest hues, and multicolored tights. You tell him as much.

“Take it off,” He replies simply. “It’s too showy.”

“Showy?” You echo,  taken slightly aback.

“Do you want fast or forever?”

“You sound like one of those dating commercials that used to appear on television.” With a huff, you do as he says. Reminding yourself, once again, that the man had five wives for a reason.

“Trust me, cupcake,” He continues, “you’re more of a vanilla type.”

“Vanilla?” Finally, a lingo you could understand. “Like, simple?”

“A classic,” Negan corrects, coming to the other side of the privacy scene to where you’re partially undressed. He's the perfect picture of indifference. “Try these.”

You do as he says.

Fully dressed, you call out to him from where's he's rummaging through a rack of clothes. It makes you flush, but you shove aside the discomfort for once, not hiding from his gaze when he turns to study you.

“Fuckin’ A+! Look at you, cupcake!”

The two of you gaze at your frame fitted in a sleeveless, black high-necked shirt as well as a pair of ripped jeans. So simple, yet so different from your usual stained t-shirt and cargo shorts. You’d forgotten that you had curves, breasts too.

“I let myself go,” You mumble, somewhat to yourself, before addressing a smirking Negan, “I just figured why not, you know? Thank you.” You can’t help but cup your breasts, turning to study the curve of your rump. It’s larger than you last recall. Eh, cupcakes we’ll do that to a person. 

“I’m not done just yet. Remember what I said about appearance?” Grasping your shoulders, he spins you so that you’re looking into his dark eyes. “You’re vanilla, but there’s nothing wrong with that, Y/N. Nice body, pretty face. Every guy wants that, you don’t have to do much. Don’t overdo it, be yourself and eventually, he’ll see you for what you really are. Get what I’m saying, cupcake?”

You’d been nodding along dizzily up until this point, trying to keep up with Negan’s rampant speech, as well as take mental notes. 

“Essentially, I’m the same ol’ vanilla cupcake with just, erh—a new strawberry filling?” At his eager nod, you continue, “The clothes don’t make me any different, they just…get me noticed!” You nod, almost encouragingly to yourself. “Got it.”


	4. A Close Shave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesson #2: Confidence

“I don’t got it! I don’t got it!” Grabbing the fire extinguisher—which is possibly overkilling on your part—you rush back in the direction of the oven.

“Stop, Y/N—!” Too late, the metal container is heavier then you’d anticipated and you lose your grip partially, the momentum projecting it forward and into his nether regions.

“I’m so sorry, Mark!” You gasp. At least you’d put out the fire.

“It’s fine.” He wheezes. “Just give me a sec, will ya?”

Well, at least this time when he leaves, it’s a chance for you to gain some reprieve. Oh, shoot! Had he even noticed your outfit?

Probably not. Usually, when someone sets your shirt on fire, the last thing you’re concerned about is her outfit.

“How’d you manage to hit him in the nuts and set him on fire, Y/N? You hate him or somethin’?”

Or something.

“I don’t know, Dwight—!” The extinguisher makes a ‘ _thunk_ ’ with the force in which you set it on the table and you instantly feel bad for yelling so you offer him a lemon bar. It’s simply wired in your DNA, it didn’t matter how atrocious or rude the person happened to be, your first instinct was to always be cordial. You figured there were enough shit-heads in the world. You didn’t need to be one of them.

He grabs more than one, making you grizzle as those were for Negan, but with a simple ‘thanks’ he’s out of your hair for good.

Really, what’s a girl to do when she’s almost just burned off the eyebrows of her potential partner and future baby daddy?

Call up a meeting with her love coach, of course!

Your eyes flicker to the clock mounted on the kitchen wall. It’s a little past noon. Would Negan be up to consulting with you, sooner than expected?

You go back and forth with the extremely deterministic voice in your head.

“Negan did say to stop by any time,” You offer, waiting to see what kind of hypothetical you’d get this time.

_But that doesn’t mean you can just waltz in at all hours of the day! He’s a busy man._

“What if I bring him something to eat?”

For once the voice is quiet. Food it is!

Hmmm, but what to make? On the off chance that he had eaten already, you wanted to make sure it was something that could suffice as a snack.

From a pile of ashes, a few roses spring.

* * *

The tray loaded with food is too heavy for you to balance with one hand, so you have no choice but to use your feet, kicking at the door of Negan’s office to make your presence known.

“Who the fuck is it?”

“It’s Y/N.” You call back.

“Who? Never heard of her.” That bastard.

“It’s cupcake!”

“Cupcake, how the hell are ya? Come on in, honey!”

Slightly frustrated from his taunts, you hip-check the door a little harder then you intended to, making the tray unbalanced as it shifts precariously in your arms.

“Negan, we have to talk about Mark—!” Your eyes lift to meet the blue orbs of a gorgeous blonde, clad in a fitted black dress. “Oh, sorry! I can come back.” You hasten, noting their proximity.

“No, I was just leaving.” She gives you a blatant stare, full of inquiries, as she glides past on her heels, shutting the door with a soft click.

“You brought sandwiches?” The way he says it doesn’t make it seem like he’s upset. Just slightly bemused.

“I’d originally intended to bring you lemon bars but Dwight ate most of them,” You say, placing the tray down in the same place you did last time. Your mind’s still whirling with the possibility of what Amber might’ve heard from your exchange with Negan.

“What the shit? Why’d _Dwighty-boy_ have his hands on my goddamn lemon bars?”

“He’s obviously got a death wish.” You murmur to yourself, before saying a bit louder to Negan, “I may’ve bribed him with some.”

“Bribed?” He sinks down onto the same couch you’re occupying, although, you’re too concerned with thoughts of where Mark might be nursing his wounds to notice. “Why do you smell like smoke?”

“Please don’t make me talk about it,” Ugh, you hate begging. But he’d already seen you at your worse. Was there really any point in going for broke?

“Cupcake, how the shit, am I supposed to help you if I don’t know if you’ve followed my advice or not?”

“Alright, fair enough.” Grabbing a plate, you place it before him. Next, uncovering the basket of potato chips you’d just made. Negan reaches forward eagerly devouring almost one-fourth of the sandwich you’d made in an entire bite, he hums appreciatively, popping a chip into his mouth. “You didn’t eat lunch?”

“You call that slop lunch?” Huh, it was meant to be chill con carne. Not you’re preferred dish so you hadn’t had any help in making it. “How the hell are you not in charge of the kitchen? With food like this, cupcake,” He motions to the tray, “well, it’s enough to make any man bow down.”

Shrugging off his compliment, you miss the way his brow puckers in thought, for once contemplating what’s before him.

“It’s not enough for Mark.” You sniff. “You’d be proud of me Negan. I did what you said: be myself. It was going so well,” Picking at the avocado in your sandwich, you take a bite that could marvel Negan’s before continuing, “Dwight and Mark came after lunch was over and I volunteered to go over the inventory numbers with them.”

“Alright, sounds fuckin’ perfect.” The outward grimace on your face makes him pause mid-chew. “What happened?”

“I set him on fire.”

“What?”

“Fire.” You squeak.

“Speak up—!”

“I set his shirt on fire, _okay_! I leaned against one of the burners and I guess he was trying to get my attention and some of the oil got on him!” Your shoulders droop.

“That it?” For once he appears speechless.

You shake your head, “I might’ve hit him in the nuts with the fire extinguisher, too." 

He bends forward so quickly you almost think he’s choking, until you realize that he’s vibrating with soundless laughter. You’ve never seen him like this, the glee radating from his form is almost contagious. 

“It’s not funny, Negan!” You cry affronted, although a few giggles escape past your lips. Maybe it was better to laugh at the circumstances then dwell on them too much. Oh my! You’d actually done it, really sabotaged your own chances this time. But only you could do it in a way that would scar the poor guy for life. "How will he be able to give me kids!”

His laughter cuts out immediately and you squirm under his full attention, “Kids?”

“I mean, yeah,” At the thought, a small smile plays on your lips. “What you said the other day got me thinking plus having a baby would be nice. I’d be a great mom. Don’t ya think?”

“Would you teach ‘em how to bake?”

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ at the thought before your eyes light up like sparklers. Negan takes it all in. Watching the little dimple pucker at the corner of your lips as thoughts he can’t possibly fathom, play behind your eyes.

“I do believe I would. Cupcakes, brownies, and even my famous lemon bars.” You hold up one for him to sample.

He takes it, licking his lips as the zesty flavor dances across his taste buds. “Come on, cupcake.” He looks distracted.

“Another field trip?” You ask.

“You could say that.”

* * *

“No, Negan! I can’t. You’re crazy!”

“Yes, you can, Y/N. Now get over here before I pull you over my goddamn lap—I don’t have all day.”

“But what if I—?”

“There’s your problem. You tell yourself that you _can’t_ before you even try.” Since when did Negan become Doctor Phil?

“Since I got my degree at the ‘ _University of You-Think-Too-Goddamn-Much_ ’.” Whoops, did you say that out loud? He pulls you back between his legs from his position, poised atop a stool, once again handing you the straight razor. “Try anything funny and I’ll haunt you in the next life over.”

Pulling away from his grip with a huff, you lean forward trying to decide where to start first, “How exactly is shaving your beard supposed to help me get Mark—with something that looks like an 18th-century torture device—no less?”

“Confidence, cupcake. Now put your first three fingers on the back of the blade, put your pinky on the tank, place your thumb here…” He directs your fingers where to go before bringing it up to his face. You can’t help but panic again when he lets go.

“Breathe, cupcake!” He forces you to do so by gripping the sides of your abdomen. Grounding you in place. You appreciate the effort. “When your hands stop shaking, I want you to bring the blade down in slow even strokes—in this direction.” He motions. “Get it?”

“Got it.” With a steady breath, you pull the skin of his right cheek taught like he’d taught you, and for once push away the doubt and the small pessimistic voice in your head—which is currently telling you that you’ll accidentally butcher him like a stuffed pig—until its gone.

“I’m doing it, Negan.” You quietly squeal, watching the blade reveal his smooth, hairless skin. What a shame. You kinda liked the beard. “I just needed someone to threaten me with a spanking to really get my ass in gear.” You can’t help but cheek.

“Knew you could, cupcake.” He lightly squeezes the grip on your midsection, enjoying for a brief moment, the soft curves underneath his hands. “Now hurry up and do the other side.”


	5. Lights! Camera! Role-play?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s all an act! Can we please have a take two?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! But, wait! I have more good news! I finished this story and the last chapter should be up soon. 
> 
> p.s. If you've been wondering where I've been or when a story will be updated, you should totally follow my Tumblr. okay, mwah x

The following week you’re in a position that has become quite familiar to you, beside Negan.

He’s quickly become your biggest fan, raving about your recipes and urging you to take a leadership position in the kitchen. If you were being honest, praise from Negan was still something you weren’t used to. You weren’t even sure if he’d gotten used to your presence. But here you sat, like so many nights before as he rapidly devours the angel food cake before him. 

Still, at least someone enjoyed your food. No matter how much you urged Mark, he still hadn’t had one of your baked goods. Something about watching his figure…

How typical. Of course, you’d fixate your sight on a guy who cared more about his looks then you did.  

“This is going to help me spend more time with Mark?” You can’t help the skepticism that leaks into your tone as you thumb the small coin Negan had given you upon your arrival. 

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Or at least that’s what you think he says as the words come out slightly muffled. Swallowing around a mouthful of cake, he showers you with more praise. “Fucking delicious, cupcake, as usual.” 

“Thank you. You have a bit of crumb, right _there_.” Leaning forward you brush the small debris away from his face with your thumb before returning to study the coin. It's an old penny, with an “x”, etched into its surface. 

“It's a ticket to get you into ‘The Basement’,” He motions to the coin looking every part the picture of smugness, but the inside of his head tells a different story. 

He's currently reconsidering the prior moment in his mind. His thoughts are tinged with a smidge of hysteria as he contemplates the warmth of your soft hands that have settled just below the surface of his skin and have yet to fade. 

He’s never felt like this. Trepidation begins to settle upon him, turning the cake he’s just eaten into a solid, heavy ball in his stomach. Was this what he wanted? To pass you off to Mark—that _fucker_ —of all people? You were too good for him. A treat on the eyes and the soul, he tells himself. 

“The Basement?” You echo, taking him away from his rapidly, spiraling thoughts. “I thought that was just a rumor or something?

The Basement was, quite frankly, part rumor, part underground bar; and what you'd assumed was the product of someone's boredom up until now. 

“It’s real, cupcake. It’s also your ticket to winning Mark's affection.” He sits forward, adjusting himself so that he’s facing you head on. You’re so trusting, he marvels at this as you put down your plate and do the same without his persuasion. Really, his small lessons had down great things to your confidence. His teachings were quite simply, little nudges, urging you towards a manner of thinking that you were already fully capable of. He'd have to thank the fucker for screwing up like he did that day, otherwise, he'd never have met you. “Tomorrow night. You’re gonna remember everything I taught ya’ and blow Mark out of the goddamn water. Just promise me I can officiate the wedding.” 

For some reason, you think, his eyes don’t quite match his jovial expression.

“Tomorrow? I’m not sure if I’m ready.” You hedge.

Negan groans outwardly, “What I tell yah’ about the low self-esteem bullshit, cupcake.”

“Men’ll sense it and try to dip their fingers in my cookie jar?” You’re stalling, truly.

He gives you a dirty look.

“Fine,” You groan, before reciting the mantra that you’d come to know so well. “There’s no reason I shouldn't be anything but confident.”

It still felt wrong to say that. Like you’d eaten blackberries—which you're allergic to—and now your lips and tongue were all numb. 

“But it’s not just that,” You protest after a moment, “Mark just has this way about him that gets me all out of sorts. Like the moment I try to speak, he steals the words right out of my mouth.” Well, that’s how it’d been before. You weren’t so sure now…

“Let’s role-play then, you can work all this shit out on me so that you’re fresh when the time comes.”

“Right here?” When he shoots you an exasperated look, you know exactly what he’s thinking: ‘Where else? The damn boiler room'.

You let out a long shuddering sigh, before signaling that you’re ready.

“Alright, scene prep!” He claps his palms together. “The bar's dark, there’s music so you have to speak loud and Marks sitting at one of the bar stools.”

You rack your brain for a witty quip but can’t think of one. Why is it that words came so far and in-between when conversing with Mark. Quite the opposite of Negan. “Um hi, Mark—“

“What? Sorry—Lauren, was it? I can’t hear you.” Why, oh why? Did you have to go and tell him that one detail in particular? 

“Hey, Mark.” You try again, this time with more confidence and a soft smile, even tapping Negan on the shoulder for emphasis. “Mind if I sit? I’ve never been here before, and it’s nice to see a friendly face.”

“I guess. Free country—or whatever.” Negan shrugs and even flips a strand of imaginary hair out of his face, mimicking the long strands that fall in front of Mark’s eyes.

You can’t help but break the scene with a loud guffaw. “Negan—! Can you stop acting so _douché-y_ , that is  _not_  how he acts.”

“Cupcake, that’s exactly how he acts. You just don’t see it because you’ve got your rose-tinted goggles on.”

Brushing aside his retort, you continue the charade, “So this is a nice change of scenery? Usually, we’re always in the kitchen…”

“Your point?” Negan interjects, and you know this time that he’s fully committed to his ‘Mark’ role. 

Huh, you hated when Mark did that. Cut you off mid-sentence as if he couldn't be bothered to listen. 

“My point,” You swallow before continuing, “is that it’s really nice to be here with you, _just_ the two of us. I was thinking if you’re not too busy, I could buy you a drink.” 

Negan cocks his brow along with an expression that translates to: ‘Well, look at you’.

“Alright, cupcake. You both have your drinks and you’ve hit a lull in the conversation. What now?”

“I think I’m going to try my signature move.” You can’t help but bounce eagerly in place. He’d told you to get a signature move and you’d thought long and hard about what it could be. Nothing too obvious and something you could be entirely comfortable with. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you miss the way Negan’s eyes roam the contours of your face, before flicking away to a spot over you’re right shoulder. The picture of indifference. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Hey, Mark?” You start.

“Hmm?”

“Maybe after we’re done here,” You lean in close to Negan’s face, almost as if you’re about to tell a secret, “we can go back to my room…for  _dessert_?” You offer with a flirtatious smile, finally getting Negan’s full attention. He’d been looking past you up until this point.  

He leans in closer, shortening the distance between the two of you so that your breath intermingles. You catch wisps of vanilla on his breath, and without thinking, you shift closer, completely immersed in his irises. You’d never noticed before, but they were the exact color of cinnamon. Your favorite ingredient. 

“How’s that?” You softly inquire after a moment. “Do you think I’ve got it.”

“Don’t you get it?” He lets out a resigned sigh that doesn’t quite reach your ears. “Cupcake, there wasn’t a moment when you didn’t.”

Your browns furrow in contemplation, trying to wade through the ambiguity that is soaked in his words. 

It’s only then that you realize…you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr: negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com


	6. A Bittersweet Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fín.

“Did you really have to walk me down here?” You weren’t sure if you saw the point in doing this anymore. It was safe to say, you’d seen the error of your ways. If Negan hadn’t insisted on escorting you to "The Basement" the following night, you're pretty sure you’d be in your room nibbling on a brownie right about now.

“Actually, cupcake, I do. Besides, I could use a drink.”

To say you’re reluctant was an understatement, and to think, you’d been so eager the night before. 

But that was _before,_ you remind yourself _,_ and this was today. 

How fickle emotions could be?

“This way,” You’d reached the end of the hallway which is divided into two separate corridors, “or did you say the left—?”

The sound of female laughter cuts through your sentence midway. 

“Is that..?” Your brows furrow as a familiar masculine voice intermingles with its vocal counterpart. 

Negan’s already sauntering down the hallway before you can say anything. After a moment’s hesitation, you follow. Negan reaches the corner of the hallway first, cocking his head to peer around the bend. You’re just several paces behind when you notice the way his back stiffens.

Now your curiosity is truly piked, tiptoeing past him you catch sight of Mark’s back. For a moment, you stand befuddled, taking in the sight of Mark. Currently locked in a passionate embrace…with Amber of all people. 

Huh.

“Well…” You murmur, watching the way his hands travel to her backside. This was sorta expected.

Biting your lip you consider Negan’s face as his eye’s flicker over the still oblivious, yet impassioned individuals.

“You’ve got to be shitting me—!” Pinching Negan on the ass, you tell him to hush. 

The oblivious couple finally slows in their embrace before gradually breaking apart, whispering softly to themselves while straightening their clothes. Realizing that they're heading this way, you panic, grasping a fistful of Negan's shirt and tugging him into a neighboring supply closet. 

Their footsteps pass the supply closet as you wait with baited breath.

A wave of emotion bubbles forth and without thinking, you bury your hands into your face, shoulders silently shaking as what you'd witnessed finally sinks in. 

“Fuck, Y/N, don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve your tears, baby.” His arms flit nervously around your body, before, in true Negan fashion, he pries your hands from your face. 

“I’m not crying, Negan.” A small hiccup escapes as you attempt to gain a semblance of composure. “I’m laughing.”

“Why the hell are you laughing?” His facial expression brings on another bout of laughter and he gives you a look, obviously questioning your sanity. 

“I’m laughing,” A small cackle punctuates your sentence, "because I spent almost _three_ weeks trying to change myself for a guy that’s had his eyes on someone else this entire time. I can’t believe I tried to change myself for some stupid obsession. He didn’t even like my cupcakes! Who the hell doesn’t like my cupcakes, Negan? They’re fucking delicious! I should've known he’d still be into Amber.” Your eyes widen at the thought and it immediately sobers you, ending your rant in the process. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know Amber is your wife.” Fuck, how insensitive are you?

“Wife.” He scoffs, looking completely unbothered. “Not in the intended sense. Not for a long time, cupcake.”

“Oh, well. I’m just sorry that I wasted all your time.” You softly laugh. This wasn’t you, it had never been, and you were sort of relieved that things had panned out the way they had—in a cramped supply closet with Negan, no less.

“Cupcake, stop apologizing.”

You open your mouth to apologize before realizing what you’d been about to do. Instead, a nervous giggle leaves your lips. It’s only then, do you realize your situation. You’re in a supply closet. With Negan. Where to go from here?

“What now?” It’s almost as if he can read your mind. 

Hmm, wasn’t that the question for the ages? 

At this moment, you had several choices to choose from. 

You could walk away, return to your room and wallow in your sadness. Because let’s face it, your crush had been nothing more than a fixation that dwindled over the last several days. But it still hurt to think that’d you’d essentially made a fool of yourself in front of countless others, only to have unrequited love be your consolation prize. 

Or, you could seize the opportunity standing right in front of you. You wouldn’t have to wonder about the ‘what-ifs’ or secretly pine after the object of your current desire, all over again.  

Releasing a shuddering breath, you halt his attempt to open the closet door.

“Wait!” His hand pauses on the doorknob, he’d obviously taken your silence as an answer in its own. “To tell you the truth, Negan. There’s this guy that I feel would better suit me…and I could use your help. That is if you’re willing.”

“Is that so?” He lets out a resigned sigh, hand still poised on the door handle. He looks tired in this light, withdrawn. “I’m not sure if I’ve got any more lessons in me, Y/N.” Really, he thinks, he’s not sure if he can take you pining after another guy. 

Ignoring him, you continue, “He’s very kind and patient with me. Loves my food…”

His curiosity is piqued, try as he does to resist. “What sorry shit is it this time? Better not be Dwight?” He grumbles, his mind is currently shuffling through all the men in the Sanctuary that he’s seen you converse with. The idea that it might be him doesn’t even cross his mind. “I guess you could…”

“Stop interrupting me. I don’t need a lesson. I need an _answer_.” Stepping forward you lift up onto your toes, grasping his face, and angling it closer to yours. How hadn’t you noticed what was in front of you this whole time? You were such a stupid, silly girl. “I feel like he may be unreachable and I haven’t known him for long, but…I think I could love him someday. ”

“Really?”

“Really.” Your breath hitches as his arms slowly twine themselves around your waist, molding you against the hard planes of his chest. He could probably feel your heart flying, though you can’t be bothered to care. Nothing had ever felt this right.

“Then I think—”

You silence him with a kiss, cutting off any chance of him responding. But that’s okay. You’d much preferred this to talking. Kissing Negan was like having your favorite dessert. Sweet and decadent. He tasted of strawberry cupcakes and the whiskey he’d drank earlier. His hands tangle in your hair, attempting to pull you closer. But you break the embrace instead. 

Giving him a coy smile, you gaze up into his hooded eyes. “You wanna head back to my room…for dessert?” 

You can’t keep the goofy smile off your face, or the peal of laughter that falls from your lips as he throws you over his shoulder. The entire time he's telling you about the lessons he has in store for you. 

You can’t wait. 

Finally, you got your cake, and you’d get to eat it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Who wants an epilogue?


	7. Its Got an  Aftertaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't resist! Here's the epilogue, enjoy! x

**5 years later…**

“Honey, I’m home!”  
****

“Oh, thank goodness,” You pass the squirming baby in your hands to Negan, placing a gentle kiss on his lips in the process, “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

“Daddy! Da—!” Your words are drowned out by your four and three-year-old daughters, both of which are in the midst of a raving sugar rush. 

He groans as if he’s upset, but the twinkle in his eyes is a dead giveaway. “Good god, woman! Did you have to get them all riled up before bed?” They’re plastered in sugar, and at this point, more icing then little girls. 

A guilty smile makes its way onto your face. Really, you knew better. Ever since the ‘great brownie debacle’ that took place the night before the Sanctuary’s Christmas party last year, you weren't allowed to take the kids to the kitchen anymore. The staff was still scrapping black sludge from the light fixtures. 

“Daddy, look! Sissy and I are making cupcakes, like mommy!” Piper gleams, holding up an icing bag for emphasis. You’re oldest, and ever the ecstatic one takes right after you in your passion for baking. Always the little chef, she’d been begging you to make cupcakes since last night, and how could you resist those brown eyes? She was her father's duplicate. 

“What kind of cupcakes are you making, Pipe?” He steps further into the kitchen. She holds up one for him to see. “Strawberry? My favorite.”

He sends you a lascivious smile over her little head knowing that the flavor choice was purposeful.

“Momma,” Ginger holds up her hands showing you the pink icing on her tiny palm, “sticky!”

Plucking the rag from your apron you wipe her grubby little hands before cleaning the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. You were pretty sure she’d done more snacking then actual decorating. With a sweet kiss for a thank you, something she’d learned from her father, she returns to "decorating" her cupcake.

“How was the kitchen today?” He knew you’d been worried about leaving the staff unattended for the week, a small attempt to give Jake's new position a test run. 

“I ended up going down there fourteen times, Negan! Really," The annoyance seeps into your tone, "what was the point in assigning a second in command if he can’t handle a simple snag in the dinner line.” You huff as he comes up behind you, pulling you closer to his side so that the scruff of his beard rubs against your cheek. Reaching up to stroke his face, you note somewhat sadly. “You’ve got a shave, hun.” 

“Later?”

“ _Later_.” The kiss that he places just behind your ear will always be your favorite treat, hands down, and something about him holding a baby always seemed to make you want him more. After a moment of watching the girls, you figure that its time for them to clean up and head to bed. They'd had there fun. Now you wanted yours. “Divide and conquer. I’ll take Graham, put him down for the night and clean the kitchen up while you get the girls ready for bed. We can be in bed by 10.” Kissing your infant son, you gaze into his eyes before turning to his older counterpart. Both have the same look of adoration on their face as they eye you.

“Cupcake, I like your confidence.” 

“I learned from the best.”

“Alright girls, time for bed.” Passing you Graham, he begins to corral the girls. They open their mouths to protest but he gives them a mock-stern look. “I want no fuss, ladies. You work with me and I'll work with you."

Piper consults with her sister for a moment, a serious look taking over her features, before finally demanding, "We want mommy to make her lemon bars."

He doesn't miss a beat, and you had to wonder if that was pre-planned. "Only if you give me kisses. Get it?” Typical. They had him wrapped around their little fingers. 

“Got it.” Piper claps nodding her head excitedly, before pausing and turning to her younger sister expectantly.

“Oh, gah it.” Ginger, bless her little heart, holds out her icing glazed pinky for her father to take. “Promise, daddy!”

Alone with little Graham, you take a breather. One baby was so much easier to juggle then three.

You think you would have learned your lesson.

“How should we tell Daddy about baby number four?” You coo, depositing him on the counter as you decide where to begin. In more ways than one. Every pregnancy had started out the same way. A strong craving for lemon meringue pie. Unbeknownst to Negan, there was one cooling downstairs in the Sanctuary’s kitchen. “Hmm, Graham?”

He coos back, mouthing gibberish. Suddenly with a jolt, he stretches out and grabs on to one of the abandoned cupcakes left on the counter before smearing it all over his face in an attempt to eat it. He reaches out his hand in offering, and you take it, the familiar taste of strawberries invading your tongue. 

“Ca!” He shouts. 

“Of course, cupcakes!” You reward him with kisses, nuzzling his chubby cheeks. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

**10 years later…**

“No, hell no! Absolutely not, young lady!”   
****

“Negan!” You cut in mid-rant. “She’s almost fifteen! Besides I already gave her permission.”

“I said _no_.” Completely ignoring you, he narrows his eyes and adds as an afterthought. “Not cool, Pipe! You thought you could just go behind my back...take the easy way out by asking your mother?”

Oh. Your mouth drops a fraction and Piper attempts to look anywhere but at you. Here you thought you were the one with the firm hand. 

“But, Dad,” Piper stomps her foot, cocking her hip, like you usually do, “everyone is staying the night in the fields. It’s just a sleepover, and Ginger and Graham are going, too!”

“So there’ll be boys!” He cries triumphantly, further upsetting the pre-teen. Piper got her stubbornness from her father, that much was apparent over the last decade. Therefore, you knew this argument could last for ages.

What would the neighbors think?

“Sweetie, don’t listen to your father!” Giving him a pointed look, you usher her away. “You can still go after dinner. Now go help your sister set the table.”

The two of you watch as she flounces out of the room, leaving you and Negan alone in the hallway. “What was that?” He demands after a beat. 

The familiar ding of your gas oven draws your attention to the pies you'd been baking and Negan’s right on your heels as you head towards the kitchen. It still didn’t escape you how fortunate you were to have what some considered a frivolous luxury. 

Almost seven years ago the factory had burnt to the ground. 

The cause had been a short-circuited wire and you and the entirety of its inhabitants had needed to relocate. It’d taken months, but Negan and some of the Saviors had found and cleared out a gated community almost sixty miles from the Sanctuary. It’d been hard those several months of relocating, with four kids no less, but it was worth it. You now had your own spacious home, which came in handy when your kids or husband were riding your last nerves.

Kind of like tonight. 

“What's for dessert, cupcake?” After fifteen years, his nickname for you still hadn’t waned. 

“Lemon meringue pie.”

“Three?” He gazes at the pies somewhat dubiously as you set each one to cool. 

“Well…I _am_ eating for three.” You might’ve broken him, you think, watching the way his mouth drops. It’d come as a shock to you too, and in your mid-thirties, you’d figured you were done having any more babies. “Surprise?”

“Cupcake, are you trying to kill me? Twins—? I’m too old for this, how the hell am I going to keep up with Piper and Ginger while juggling two babies!”

An image of Negan wielding a stick in an attempt to fend off waves of pre-pubscent boys with two babies strapped to his back makes you snicker.

“Oh, hush! You’re barely fifty!” Grabbing the lasagna that’d been cooling on the stove, you toss over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen. “Consider it this way…we're halfway to a baker’s dozen.”

Dinner with your family, as usual, is a chaotic affair as the kids talk over each other in an attempt to fill you and Negan in on there day at school. Tonight, however, there's a little less noise coming from Piper. She’s usually little Miss ChatterBox leading the mob. 

You ask her what’s wrong when Negan is fully engaged with the boys, Graham and Sage. 

“Nothing.” She answers glumly.

“It’s about a boy.” Ginger stage whispers from across the table.

“A boy?” This was the first time you’re hearing about any love interests in your children’s life, they were young but you’d known this had been coming for a while. “What’s his name?” You softly inquire. 

“Mom!”

“His name’s Justin.”

“Ginger!” Piper shrieks, gaining everyone's attention. Catching sight of Negan’s eye twitch, you begin to rub your temples knowing exactly how this will pan out.

“Who’s Justin?” Negan demands, his gaze flicking from you to Piper.

“A _boy_ , daddy. Piper’s got a crush on him.” Ginger gives her a sly look. “But don’t worry, nothings gonna happen cause _Piper_ can’t get out more than two words ‘round him.”

Graham decides to join in the fun, nudging Piper as he says, “Hey, Justin. I-I, um—maybe we could—!”

"Oh, hey Pippin. Didn't see you there?" Ginger's voice drops several octaves in an attempt to mimic a male's voice.

“This Justin kid sounds like a douche.” Negan cuts in, brows deeply furrowed. Thank god he’d retired Lucille. Otherwise, you were sure you’d have to be worried about Justin’s wellbeing.

“What’s a douche?” Graham questions after a moment.

“Negan! Really?” Damnit! You didn’t need another note sent home with the teacher. 

“Ugh, bury me!” 

“We can’t bury you, Pipe. Who’s gonna read me bedtime stories?” Oh, Sage. The picture of innocence at nine-years-old looks genuinely concerned for his sister's well-being. God, you knew it was only a matter of time before he'd join in on the bickering and teasing. 

“Graham! Ginger! Stop teasing your sister.” You reprimand, turning to your eldest daughter. “You know, you’re mother wasn’t the smoothest when it came to talking to boys, either. That’s actually how I met your father. Maybe tonight you’ll get a chance to talk to him.”

"You think?" She askes, looking a little more hopeful.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight. You and Ginger are going to have a night in with your father...far away from that Justin douche." Negan announces to the table. You didn’t like the idea of any of your kids dating either, but it was just a harmless crush. You doubted it would pan out to anything. 

“Yes, she is, Negan! Don’t be silly!” Brushing off the look he gives you, you turn to Piper and say, “The most important thing is confidence, you’re dad taught me that.”

“Really, you were nervous…around daddy?” Ginger buts in, slightly skeptical. You can’t blame her, she’d walked into the kitchen and seen you and Negan pawing at one another, more than a handful of times. 

“Something like that,” You answer vaguely. 

“I’ve tried to be confident, mom!” Piper cries dramatically, clearly feeling threatened as the spotlight has shifted from her. You can’t help but roll your eyes at her theatrics. “Justin just has this way about him. None of you understand! It’s like the moment I try to speak to him, he steals the words right out of my mouth.”

Oh, the irony. 

“Well, Pipe. Have you tried cupcakes?” Your eyes meet Negan’s from across the table. Despite the fact that he’s on edge, he hides it well from the kids. You can already tell you’ll have to stop him from sneaking out of the house tonight to check on the kids. A small smile plays at the edge of his mouth as he watches you mouth the word ‘irony’, over and over again.

“Cupcakes?” She repeats, skeptically.

“Mmhm, my preferred is strawberry. Just walk straight up to him—smile softly—and offer him a cupcake. Men love cupcakes. Right, Negan?”

"Daddy?" Piper, inquires. She's using the look you'd taught her, all wide-eyed and pleading. Atta' girl.

“Listen to your mom, Pipe." He finally says with a long, drawn-out sigh. "She’s learned a thing or two.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age Chart:  
> Piper-14  
> Ginger- 13  
> Graham- 10  
> Sage- 9  
> You- 36 (Give or take, it’s up to you)  
> Negan-46

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. Reviews make me write quicker and kudos make my day.
> 
> Okay, mwah x


End file.
